


Twisted Fate

by GavotteAndGigue



Series: Twisted Fate [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmates, Stockholm Syndrome, Under-negotiated Kink, do not copy to another site, minor mentions of birdflash, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-05 20:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21214937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GavotteAndGigue/pseuds/GavotteAndGigue
Summary: After months hidden away, Jason returns to Gotham with Slade in tow. Slade’s feeling pleased that he’s course-corrected Fate’s mistake, and he’s quite happy to enjoy the benefits that come with a karmic partner. At the same time, not everyone is thrilled at this new development—Bruce and Dick are highly alarmed, and soulmark or not, they’re dead set on convincing Jason that Slade is manipulating him for his own gain. As a result, Jason begins to question his own agency in his new karmic entanglement with Slade.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleet_of_red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleet_of_red/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Twisted Fate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23036221) by [SilverCat_414](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCat_414/pseuds/SilverCat_414)

> Sequel to [Stay My Tragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20888669)  
First chapter written for SladeRobin week 2019. Day 4: Handcuffs  
I meant to finish this whole fic for the week... but life got in the way. Hope it's still enjoyable though!
> 
> Super thanks to [fleet_of_red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleet_of_red/pseuds/fleet_of_red) for encouraging me to continue this as a series and for doing the [art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904347/chapters/49692689) for the previous installment :)
> 
> NEW: fleet did some amazing art for this chapter! [Ao3 link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471832/chapters/50704190), [tumblr link](https://fleet-of-red.tumblr.com/post/188783537159/sladejay-fanart-inspired-by-pt-2-of)

Slade watched in amusement as Jason scurried around the interior of the small warehouse, setting demolition blocks into nooks and crannies, deftly plugging in wires and configuring sensors, and then connecting them to a remote detonator. He was setting far more charges than was strictly necessary, but Slade had quickly learned that Jason had a flare for the dramatic. He wouldn’t be surprised if, by the end of the night, the entire warehouse had gone up in flames.

Fortunately, despite the extravagance, Jason was careful in the placement of the explosives. If the first set of charges went off, assuming you weren’t instantly blown apart by standing next to one of them, the building wouldn’t immediately come down on their heads. He was strategic and thorough, with an enviable depth of knowledge regarding incendiaries and their effects on building construction. It required a level of meticulous planning Slade didn’t see very often, and altogether it illustrated just how dangerous and potentially deadly Jason could be if he put his mind to something. It made sense that Jason had a reputation for being a criminal mastermind.

Slade was a little impressed. And pleased. He wouldn’t have wanted anything less in a partner. He'd be hard-pressed to say so aloud, but he could foresee having ready access to an explosives expert as an unexpected perk.

“Okay, all done with the prep,” Jason straightened up from where he had been crouching by the last of the charges. He put his hands on his hips, preening at his handiwork, and looked back at Slade with a grin. “Now we wait for Penguin to show up for his surprise party.”

They subsequently removed themselves to the rooftop, where Jason settled in beside a ventilation duct. He brought up his monitoring array on his wrist computer, and sure enough, Jason had perfectly timed their operation. Only minutes later, the telltale dots that represented the Penguin's shipments appeared on the map projection. Slade crouched beside Jason, tucking himself behind the raised roof ledge to watch through a scope as trucks began to roll toward the warehouse. 

They were expecting an exchange between the Penguin and Black Mask tonight—a shipment of arms that the Penguin had squirreled in through the Iceberg Lounge's trafficking operations. Jason planned to intercept while making a show of it, reestablishing his reputation and also the fact that the Red Hood was alive and well.

Slade was simply along for the ride. Where Jason stacked on the Gotham crime lord achievement ladder was hardly his concern, but making sure that Jason reigned in his recklessness was. Slade wanted some assurance that Jason was learning to mind his mortality with a little more care now that his death was no longer tied to the Joker, because otherwise all Slade's efforts would have been for naught.

Down below, the group of goons had started unloading the trucks to move crates into the warehouse, and another set of sleek black cars were now pulling in close to the docked trucks. Out of the first car rolled the stout, rotund figure of the Penguin, top hat immaculately positioned over his stringy hair, walking cane twirled deftly in hand, and monocle glinting against the moonlight. He was dressed to the nines, but underneath Slade knew Cobblepot to be just a slippery fish trying to fly high with the birds. He had paid good money though, or rather he did, up until _Jason _happened.

Slade rated breaking a contract up there with working for free. It was something he simply refused to do because it was antithetical to his principles. Jason was a rare exception. Fate had forced his hand, though the outcome was not without its benefits.

Slade had been wary at first. He'd been burned before with Grayson, and he wasn't about to get suckered into being toyed with by another upstart Batkid. However, Jason was proving to be a different bird altogether.

He'd spent weeks observing Jason, digging into the history of the Red Hood, tracking his operations, gauging his fighting ability and even following him around in his civilian identity. He liked what he saw, and he didn't just mean Jason's looks, though that was definitely a plus. It was more that, unlike the other Bats, Jason had a _flexibility _in his tenets that Slade could work with. The kid had demonstrated an aptitude for ruthlessness and a willingness to kill, though not without deliberate intention. He was temperamental, but he was also methodical and strategic. Then, seeing Jason face-to-face in the diner had cemented Slade's resolve. He was going to fix what Fate had done to both of them.

Slade succeeded. 

Now all he had to do was enjoy the fruits of his labor. He'd be lying if he said the kid's appearance wasn't a big part of the appeal either. Jason was, for lack of a better descriptor, a good looking kid. Not pretty in the way Grayson was—his features were sharper, with a hard edge to him that was heightened by that defiant attitude. Still, there was a wild beauty about him that was hard to resist. Maybe rugged or handsome was a better word, because on the outside, there wasn't anything soft about Jason. At least not until you got to the _inside _part when Jason would be panting and mewling Slade's name in soft little whimpers. It had Slade's cock twitching every time he thought about Jason spread out beneath him. 

Things were working out far better than Slade had hoped. He was even getting a little attached. He hated to admit it, but he wouldn't be standing here in the warehouse pretending to be the Red Hood's stooge if otherwise. _Pretending_ being the operative word.

Another line of cars had pulled into the dock area now, and a slightly different set of canon fodder emerged wearing some of the most ridiculous outfits Slade had ever seen. Bondage masks and cheap polyester suits, the signature uniform of henchmen working for Black Mask. Sure enough, the aforementioned exited the car last, the matte black of his skull nearly blending into the night. He approached the Penguin, with a slightly more smartly addressed assistant with a pinched face trailing closely. He had a tablet in hand, ready to transfer money. 

That was their cue. Jason nodded at Slade, a final confirmation before he punched a code into his wrist computer.

The first set of charges went off—a blast that was more bang than bite—that sent those inside the warehouse fleeing the building. Jason watched them evacuate and then punched in a second set of codes. That gave them thirty seconds to get off the roof, and Jason was already grappling down. Slade followed, but dropped back into the shadows, letting Jason take the lead.

The explosion rocked just as Jason hit the ground, and despite the concussive force, he managed to land with sure footing. Not that Slade was surprised. Jason had probably timed it that way and calculated to land just outside of the main blast range, dramatic Bat-brat that he was. The same couldn’t be said for the others in the vicinity. The explosion had knocked everyone else off their feet, and in the time that it took for them to clear their heads enough to even consider staggering back up, Jason had already disarmed or immobilize them with bolas.

Jason let Black Mask struggle to stand though, while keeping a gun leveled at the man’s head. The Penguin he kept down, with a boot pressed to his chest to pin him to the ground.

“Penguin,” Jason’s modulated voice was teasing and full of swagger, “I’m back from being out of town. Did you miss me?”

“Red Hood!” the Penguin spat. He tried to roll to his side, angling to grab the umbrella that lay a few feet away. “You’re supposed to be dead! When I get my hands on that cheating, double-crossing assassin I’ll–”

It was Slade’s turn now. He flicked a dagger out to pierce through the Penguin’s hand, which served to simultaneously cut off the Penguin’s words and effectively neutralize his ability to reach for his weapon. Not that Jason needed any help, but this whole production had been planned simply to drive home a point.

“You’ll what, Cobblepot?” Slade stepped out of the shadows to reveal himself. “I don’t appreciate idle threats.”

“You!” The Penguin squawked. “I hired you specifically to kill the Red Hood. You reneged on our contract!”

“He got a better offer,” Jason interjected cheerfully. “Refund's in the mail.”

There was more squawking and shrieking from the Penguin, before he found articulation in, “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it!”

Slade barked out a laugh at that. “Trust me, there's no way you're going to match what he's paying.”

"And as of right now, you can't afford _external contractors _anyway," Jason chuckled. "Not when I just blew up this fiscal quarter's merchandise." The warehouse behind was fully engulfed in flames now, and the tertiary explosives going off served as fire accelerants. There would be nothing left by the time the fire department came around to put out the flames. Jason still saw fit to emphasize the point with a shove of his boot that had the Penguin gasping. 

“I’m gonna let you off easy today," he added. Even with his modulator on, Jason still managed to sound snarky, "but tomorrow you’re going to start sending me forty percent of your profits. It’s been nice doing business with you Cobblepot.”

Jason let up with his foot, and the Penguin scrambled up. “You’ll pay for this,” he decreed, wagging his finger in the air as if it were some kind of royal scepter.

“Nope,” Jason laughed. “Other way around, now scram before I change my mind.” He aimed a shot at the Penguin’s feet as he scampered away, his henchmen following as they piled into the cars and took off.

Jason finally turned to the remaining faction, feigning blasé as if Black Mask was an afterthought. It wasn't. Slade noted how Jason had kept his gun in hand the entire time, not once letting Black Mask beyond the corner of his eye.

"Sionis," Jason simply stated.

“Hood.” Black Mask almost seemed amused.

“I'm sure I'll be doing business with you soon too." Jason jerked his head toward the cars, indicating that the other man should make his exit. 

Black Mask got up to go, his goons opening the closest car door to usher him away, but he paused. He leaned an arm over the top of the window frame, looking Jason up and down in a way that made Slade's hackles rise.

"I'm looking forward to your call Hood. I'll be thinking about it all night." There weren't any lips on that gruesome black skull so to speak, but the upturned curve of the mandibles implied a sinister smile. His tone had just a hint of something that Slade could only think to call _lewd,_ and he didn't like it one bit.

Jason didn't visibly react, but he replied, "Yeah. Don't bother waiting up."

Black Mask just shrugged at that. He got in the car and left.

Slade felt some of the tension within him release as the car pulled away. He turned to Jason, "Why'd you let him go?"

"Sionis is knee-deep in international arms deals." Jason holstered his guns and then dusted off his hands against his thighs. With the building behind him in flames, he cut a stark silhouette that contrasted against the warm glow, and Slade could trace the curve of his hip and down his legs with his eye.

"I've got plans to map the logistics paths," Jason continued. "I might need to leverage Sionis as a springboard to dive into those networks."

It made sense, but Slade didn't particularly like it. He said as much, but Jason just shrugged and started off along their pre-planned exit route. Slade let it drop for the moment, because if he continued the kid was likely to run off and do something stupid out of sheer spite. He didn't have a problem with taking down Sionis if Jason got in over his head, but he wasn't keen on tracking Jason across the globe if he got entangled in something bigger. That _good_ streak in Jason wasn't particularly appealing, Slade thought as he kept apace. It was something to be worked out at some point in the future he supposed, but not today.

They made it back to their safehouse in short order, a decently-sized apartment in one of Gotham's older districts that screamed of gentrification. It wasn't the kind of place Slade preferred to go in his downtime, but it was where his bird had currently made his nest, so Slade saw fit to make do for the time being. It was outfitted with a fairly large bed, and it was there that Slade practically manhandled Jason toward as soon as they entered through the bedroom window. 

He grabbed Jason on the forearm, right over where the wolf mark was so that the karmic sensations flooded through the both of them, and Jason practically whimpered at the burgeoning heat. Slade felt it reciprocated in himself, a flare of intensity over where he had the image of a robin permanently etched into his arm. He welcomed the feeling. He'd been itching for that rush since that bastard Sionis had the balls to hint at an interest in Jason right in front of him. Then again, it wasn't like they were broadcasting that they were karmically paired—Jason kept his wolf mark under the sleeve of his shirt, and Slade always wore a full-body suit. For all either Sionis or Cobblepot knew, Slade was just the hired hand who had jumped ship for deeper pockets. Still, even if no one else could guess at their true arrangement, Jason was _his,_ and Slade wanted to make sure he knew it through and through.

He shoved Jason backward onto the bed, hard enough that he hit the mattress with a bounce. Then Slade was on top of him, unlatching the helmet and chucking it into the corner. He stripped off Jason’s leather jacket, then the armored shirt, until Slade could run his hands over the lovely expanse of Jason's bare chest. He spared a moment to pull off his mask and gloves, then grabbed Jason's arm again, this time gentler, wrapping his fingers around so he could stroke his thumb over where the wolf mark was nestled in the crook of Jason's inner forearm.

The impressions came on stronger when they touched skin-to-skin, and Jason practically melted underneath him. Slade took back his earlier thought—Jason _was_ pretty, especially with that pink flush decorating his cheeks and that dark fan of his lashes as he closed his eyes and threw back his head, emitting the most sensuous of moans from his parted lips. Slade felt the heat echo within him too, and leaned down to capture Jason's mouth, the barest suggestion of a bite before sealing Jason's lips with his own. He licked and probed with his tongue, matching the hum of Jason's whimper with a pleasured groan.

He moved his hands down to unbuckle Jason's belt, skirting along the utility pockets as he did so. It gave Slade an idea—he flipped open one of the latches while nudging Jason upward toward the head of the bed. The frame sported a nifty metal headboard wrought into a design of intricate arabesque scrolls. It was perfect for the set of handcuffs he had purloined from Jason's belt. 

Slade stroked his thumb over Jason's wolfmark again, sending a fresh wave of karmic sensations through the both of them, and then moved his hand to cup over Jason's already hardened cock. Jason rolled his hips upward, chasing the pressure and friction, and Slade kissed his mouth again. Once he was sure Jason was dazed with lust, Slade captured both Jason's hands and brought them up to the headboard rail. He cuffed one wrist, inserted the end through the metal frame, and then cuffed the other.

The clink and snap of the cuffs brought Jason out of his daze. "Wha–," Jason fluttered his eyes open, "what do you think you're doing?" He pulled at the cuffs, and then fixed a glare back at Slade.

"Collecting payment for services rendered," Slade stated.

Jason narrowed his eyes and tested the cuffs again. "Fuck you, Slade."

Slade laughed and caressed Jason's cheek. "Call me Deathstroke when I'm working."

"So this is work?" Jason jerked his head to pull away from Slade's grasp.

"When I'm being paid, absolutely." Slade moved now to run his hand through Jason's hair, tangling the strands between his fingers and tugging slightly. "And let's be clear—you asked me to tag along tonight to clear up any _confusion_ about the hit on you, and we agreed to say that you'd made me a better offer. I'm taking you up on that."

"That was meant to be–, it wasn't–," Jason stumbled over his words because Slade was at his soulmark again, stroking over it as he sucked and kissed at the hollow of Jason's neck. "Fuck! Slade!" he gasped, before finally completing his original thought, "That was meant to be a _cover,_ you ass!"

"I said to call me Deathstroke. And rule of thumb," Slade emphasized this time by pressing firmly over the wolfmark, "Don't assume I work for free. Ever." He nudged Jason's thighs apart, shifting so that he could settle between Jason's legs. He ground himself down against Jason's groin to take off some of the edge of arousal that was afflicting them both.

Jason reacted by trying to suppress a moan but failing. Instead, he arched up into Slade, straining against the cuffs so that they were clunking and clanging against the frame, and Slade couldn't help but grin. This little bird never liked to stay down.

"Easy now," he pressed Jason back into the mattress with his palms planted over Jason's pecs, taking the opportunity to run his fingers across the nubs of Jason's nipples. Jason practically vibrated under his hands, and there was that clang of cuffs against the bed rail again as Jason let out a sigh that spun up into a whine halfway through.

Slade was immensely pleased at that, and said, "You and I both know you can get out of those cuffs any time. Question is, do you want to?"

That pretty pink blush over Jason's cheeks had crept down to his neck, where a few red welts were now forming from Slade's fervent kisses. Oh, Jason was going to _love_ that in the morning. Slade could already imagine his little bird flustered and throwing a fuss in outrage. It was all going to be _so_ worth it.

Jason, meanwhile, had made no reply. He just shifted beneath Slade, not quite making eye contact. He tested at his bonds again, twisting his hands so that his fingers grazed over the latch of the cuffs, but he made no further move to escape.

Slade took that as an affirmative. He leaned down and took Jason's mouth again as he reached down to finish undoing the various contraptions that made up Jason's belt and thigh holsters. It would have been frustratingly prohibitive if Slade hadn't already done this several times at this point. It had taken Jason a couple weeks to get all his ducks lined up for his return to Gotham, what with taking the proper precautions to ensure the Bats didn't immediately rain down upon them with self-righteous hypocrisy as soon as they stepped foot within the city limits. In that time, they'd made a stop at one of Slade's less isolated safehouses, where Slade made it a point to push Jason back toward his top physical fighting form. Their sparring sessions, for the most part, ended with Slade fucking Jason into the floor, giving Slade plenty of opportunity to practice stripping Jason down.

He’d already undone Jason’s belt buckle earlier, so now it was time to remove the holsters before Slade could get Jason’s pants off. Slade reared back and tugged Jason down by his straps until his thighs were laid over Slade’s lap. Slade then ran his hands up and down the inside of Jason’s thighs, from his knees up to where his legs converged at his groin and back down again. Each time Slade moved his hands up he cupped his hand over the bulge of Jason’s cock, still confined in his pants. He rubbed his fingers along the length and moved back down to squeeze and stroke over his muscled legs.

“Agh! Slade!” Jason mewled plaintively as he curled his hips upward, trying to find friction where there was none. “Quit. Fucking. Teasing!”

“Deathstroke,” Slade corrected. “I’m working, remember?”

“Nnnn…,” Jason panted as Slade stroked over his cock again. “Work faster, you jackass. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get fucked sometime tonight.”

“Hnnn,” Slade didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

Jason glared at him, the teal blue of his eyes were intensely vivid, revealing a glimpse of that underlying fierceness that Slade thoroughly enjoyed about him.

"Fine, _Deathstroke,"_ Jason tilted his chin up, quirking up the corner of his mouth. He spread his thighs apart wider and rolled his hips again, then licked his lips so they glistened wet and red. "Fuck me. Put that fat prick of yours inside me, _Deathstroke.”_

It sounded more like he was challenging Slade to a duel rather than begging him to get fucked. Slade felt his cock twitch at that, because of course Jason would be a little shit about it. He was a little shit about everything, but Slade was up for it. He wanted the challenge. He wanted the opportunity to put Jason in his place, with both of them finding a world of pleasure in the process.

Slade was already straining in the confines of his Ikon suit, and watching Jason put on his little show had made him that much more aroused. It was time to remind his little bird who the wolf was between the two of them. Slade grabbed Jason by the hips and flipped him over onto his stomach. The cuffs twisted against the rail with a metallic clang, and then Slade was quickly unfastening the clips of Jason’s thigh holsters.

_Snap. Snap._ The buckles came undone from Jason's right thigh. 

_Snap. Snap._ The second holster dropped loose and Slade unthreaded Jason's belt until he could lay the whole unit on the bedside table.

He moved back to put his hands around Jason's hips and yanked him up so he was on his knees on the bed. Slade curled his fingers under Jason's waistband and slowly pulled his pants down, kissing and nipping at the curve of Jason's backside as the skin was slowly revealed, inch by inch.

Jason shivered under Slade's touch. He let out soft muffled moans, burying his face in a pillow as Slade sucked at his skin, and shifting so he could shimmy out of his pants in an attempt to hurry the process along. Impatient little bird he was, though Slade wasn't one to needlessly put things off either. So the pants went quickly, and Slade went back to business. He reached for a tube of lube to slick his fingers, and then splayed a hand over Jason's ass, teasing his thumb at the edge of Jason's puckered hole. He watched as the muscle pulsed in anticipation, then rubbed slow circles around the rim. There were some things in life that were worth savoring, and this was one of them.

"Slade…," Jason sounded a little breathless, and Slade didn't hear the next thing he said because he was moaning into the pillow again, with Slade having leaned over him to stroke over the wolf on Jason's arm. There was a grinding sound of the cuffs rubbing against the metal frame again as Jason pulled and bucked against his restraints.

Slade folded himself over Jason, leaning down close to whisper into Jason's ear, "Deathstroke. Payment remember?"

Jason turned his head out of the pillow at that, a little flare of heat in his eye as he glared over his shoulder at Slade. "What, is it your night off? Doesn't seem like you're working very har– _aaah!"_

And here they finally were, getting to the _inside_ part, because at that very moment Slade slipped a finger into Jason, pushing at his entrance until he yielded. Slade twirled his finger slowly, slicking Jason’s inner rim until the rub of his digit was more glide than friction. The kid started moaning again as Slade probed deeper, and with his chest pressed against Jason's back, Slade could feel the rhythm of Jason’s breaths begin to quicken.

It felt good like that, and Slade figured it might feel even better to have Jason pressed to him skin-to-skin, but when he pulled back to remove the top of his suit, Jason shook his head, glancing over his shoulder just quick enough to say, "Wait."

He turned his face into the pillow again, but Slade could still hear him when he said, "Deathstroke..., keep it. Keep it on."

_Oh._ Now that was certainly worth the grin that immediately pulled at the edges of Slade's lips. Sometimes Jason was full of surprises. He was up for the little game apparently, which wasn’t always the case when Slade tried something new, and with Jason, most everything was new. It was a wonder he was still practically a virgin before Slade got him under his hands. For all that sass and swagger he put on for his outward appearance, Jason was unexpectedly shy and inexperienced when it came to sex. That was changing quickly, case in point, and Slade was more than happy to take advantage of Jason’s current receptiveness. Having Jason willing and begging to be fucked beneath him was nothing short of pure bliss.

With Jason fully prepared now, Slade withdrew his hands to unzip the fly of his pants, pushing the band down just enough to pull himself free. He gave his cock a few quick strokes, and then positioned himself at Jason’s hole, pushing himself in just enough to feel Jason’s sphincter clench around the head of his cock. Slade let out a moan himself at that, then leaned forward again to kiss and nip at the nape of Jason’s neck. He moved one hand up again to thumb over Jason’s wolfmark, feeling both of them riding upward on a fresh wave of heat, then rocked his hips forward in one quick thrust. He speared Jason completely open, slamming his pelvis against Jason's buttocks until he bottomed out inside him.

“Nnnnngh!” Jason let out a muffled cry, his face still buried in the pillow, and Slade hummed in agreement, letting himself enjoy the tight heat that enveloped him. He waited a moment to see if Jason wanted to back out, holding himself still, though his breathing was a little ragged with his cock buried to the hilt. 

Jason didn’t. He was panting, pulling against the cuffs so they were grating against the frame again, but he made no move to free himself. In the back of his mind, Slade noted that if they kept this up, they were going to have to come up with a safeword, but that was for later. For the moment, judging by the way Jason was starting to grind back against him, trying to generate some friction at the point where they were so intimately connected, Jason was still game for this. Slade didn't wait for another cue. He started to move.

He kept one hand on the wolf and the other tangled in Jason’s hair, pressing the kid's face into the pillow as he snapped his hips in a steady rhythm. He angled himself each time until he could feel Jason tense as Slade glanced against his prostate. Slade kept himself at that magic angle, slowing his thrust at irregular intervals until Jason began to whine and tremble.

“Deathstroke…,” Jason breathed as he turned his head to the side. “Oh fuck,” his voice pitched higher than normal as Slade sped up again, and Jason followed up with a soft litany of moans. _Soft. _This was the only time Jason felt anything like soft—when Slade was inside him, where Jason felt like nothing but warm and wet and pliable. It felt perfect, the two of them melded together like this. Yeah, the inside part was definitely Slade’s favorite.

He kept fucking Jason in a steady rhythm, but increased the force of his grind as they both got closer and closer to release. Slade could feel Jason begin to quiver beneath him, his thighs flexing and shifting as he tried to bring his hips down closer to the bed. Jason was trying to get some friction against his neglected cock, but Slade moved his hands down to grip his hips and hold him in place.

"Don't worry, little bird," Slade reared back without breaking his rhythm, "I'm gonna make you come just like this." He rolled his hips, increasing the rub against Jason's prostate with each slide, feeling Jason clench and spasm around him, until he was a whimpering mess, nearly sobbing in ecstasy as Slade drove into him over and over again. 

"That's it little bird," Slade finally reached around Jason to grip his cock in hand. "This is payment. What did I tell you to call me? Say it."

"Nnngh…," Jason gasped as Slade squeezed the base of his cock.

"Say it!"

"Deathstroke! _Ah_… Deathstroke, oh fuck!" He cried out as Slade stroked his hand over Jason’s engorged prick. It only took a few more pulls, with Slade still jackhammering into his hole, and Jason was arching and nearly screaming as he spurted and gushed his release all over Slade's hand.

Slade finally let Jason collapse under him, pushing him flat on his stomach as he reached for Jason's soulmark again. He continued the grueling piston of his hips, only breaking his rhythm when moments later he was grunting and growling through the climax that tore through him. He went rigid as he felt a white-hot flare of heat spread out from the robin mark on his arm, the tension that had pooled in his belly seemed to explode through his entire body. He shuddered as he spilled every last bit of seed as deep inside Jason as he could go. 

Slade felt like he was floating—the come-down a slow drift, like coasting on a feather through a delirious fog, until by degrees he found himself firmly planted back in reality, with his cock still embedded inside Jason’s warm flesh. He collapsed down on top of Jason, who responded with a breathy _“ooph.”_

Slade laughed and wrapped his arms around Jason’s chest as he rolled them onto their sides. He curled around Jason, spooning against his back. Jason was still trembling slightly in Slade's arms from the intensity of their coupling, and Slade continued to hold him until he felt the lingering quiver fade away to just the movement of a gentle, even breath.

Jason didn’t make any effort to move, but Slade hadn't forgotten that Jason was still cuffed. He pulled away, his cock slipping out of Jason, leaving a wet trail of come across Jason's buttocks and thighs. Slade tucked himself back into his soiled suit, and then palmed the key from Jason’s discarded belt to unlock them, but soon realized in dismay that Jason's bound wrists were bloody. The cuts were shallow, but just enough to draw a trickle of blood.

"You should have told me they were cutting into your wrists."

"It's fine.” Jason gave a slight movement that Slade took to be a shrug. “I've had worse.”

"I know. Do you _want_ worse?" Slade dragged himself off the bed to retrieve a first aid kit, feeling oddly unsettled. Jason wouldn’t be the first partner Slade had who liked it a little rough, nor the first partner who had certain kinds of… kinks, but in this case he didn't think Jason had been so inclined. At least not intentionally. His overall demeanor and temperament suggested it was more indicative of a lack of self-regard rather than a deliberate erotic pursuit. Slade was happy to indulge if it were the latter, he just preferred to know what he was getting into beforehand.

"Just leave it, Slade." Jason's face was a little pinched when Slade dabbed a cotton wad of antiseptic over his wrists. "Like you said, I could have gotten out at any time."

It still wasn't a direct answer, and experience had proven Jason tended to downplay his pain until it reached the point where he couldn't hide it anymore. "Want or don't want, I don't care either way, but I expect you to tell me." Slade tied a length of gauze over the cuts. It wasn't strictly necessary with the wounds so shallow, but Slade did it anyway.

Jason still had that pinched look, but he said, "Fine, but your bedside manner sucks."

"And you're the worst fucking patient ever." Slade turned to strip out of his costume, then used a towel to wipe them both off before climbing into bed again. He resumed his position, with Jason's back pressed to his chest, this time skin-to-skin. Slade's draped an arm over Jason to keep him in there.

He reached around to grab Jason over his soulmark. It was almost becoming a habit now, and the impressions that came through after sex always felt like a deep aching warmth. Jason had tensed up earlier when Slade released the cuffs, and Slade could still feel the tautness in the line of his back. That was beginning to be a pattern—Jason had been noticeably on edge since they set foot in Gotham, and Slade thought he knew why. 

Slade leaned his chin over Jason's shoulder to speak, keeping his voice quiet and low, "Isn't it about time we talked about the elephant in the room?"

That stiffness seemed to spread across Jason's shoulders, but he responded flippantly, "You mean the fact that you're old enough to be my grandfather?"

"Brat." Slade pinched his rear at that, and Jason yelped, but then followed on with a snigger as he tried to playfully elbow Slade in the ribs. Slade smothered Jason's antics with a kiss, climbing on top of him and pinning him on his back.

Slade didn't break the kiss until Jason quieted, and when he finally did, he pulled back and said, "Let me clarify, I'm talking about the pointy-eared, bat-shaped elephant wearing a cape, along with his flock of birds. They're going to be all over this city looking for you after that stunt you pulled tonight with the Penguin."

The impish grin on Jason's face was quickly replaced by a scowl. "Don't worry about it. They're my problem. I'll deal with them."

Judging by how hard it was to get Jason away from the Bats in the first place, Slade was pretty sure it was going to bite Jason in the ass and become Slade's problem too. The Bats were going to come to them now regardless of whether Jason wanted them to or not. In some ways, Slade was looking forward to greeting their pissed off faces.

Clearly, Jason was avoiding the issue though. Perhaps it would take some _intervention…._

Jason shifted out from under him and attempted to roll away, but Slade held on to him. "No," he said and turned Jason so they were face-to-face on their sides. He kissed Jason again, slowly so that Slade could savor the feel of Jason's soft lips and hot mouth. Jason responded in kind, but then broke the kiss in favor of tucking his head under Slade's chin. 

They didn't talk anymore, and eventually, Slade could feel the tickle of warm breath against his collarbone as Jason drifted off to sleep. Slade gathered him close, then pulled the covers over them both and closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to put this in here earlier, but fleet did some amazing art for the first chapter! [Ao3 link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471832/chapters/50704190), [tumblr link](https://fleet-of-red.tumblr.com/post/188783537159/sladejay-fanart-inspired-by-pt-2-of)

Dick gunned the engine of his _wing-cycle_ as he sped past the cave security sensors. The scream of the engine seemed to echo the gut-wrenching anxiety that had afflicted him ever since Bruce pinged him with a simple text: Jason’s in Gotham.

He'd been getting ready for patrol in Blüdhaven at the time, but had immediately dropped his plans and headed to the cave. They’d been searching for Jason for _months_ at this point. After Slade had killed the Joker, he had whisked Jason away and practically dropped off the planet. The evidence left behind had only led to dead ends, and Dick had concluded that was intentional on Slade’s part. The Joker’s head had been left speared upon a pike outside of a warehouse, driving home the point that what he had done to Jason was every bit as deliberate as it appeared. The security footage of the Joker’s murder had been left intact as well, and Dick and Bruce had reviewed and analyzed it dozens of times over, so much that the image of a shocked and terrified Jason trying to scramble away had been seared into his brain. Everything afterward had been edited out.

Bruce hadn’t been able to find any sign of either of them since, but Dick held out hope that Jason was still alive, given what he’d figured out about his soulmark in those moments before Jason ran.

Dick came to a stop on the central platform of the cave, the smell of burning rubber permeating the air as he half flipped off the bike before the rumble of the engine even died. He landed neatly on the floor, then approached the large monitors where Bruce was running an analysis on the bat computer.

"Where?" Dick didn't bother with a greeting. He knew Bruce was as desperately worried as he was, and he didn’t want to waste any time getting down to business.

Bruce didn’t turn away from the monitors. He had his cowl off, and his expression was grimmer than usual as he brought up a clip of security footage. It was time-stamped earlier that day and showed throngs of people weaving and meandering through a junction in the station tunnel. Dick immediately honed in on a figure that stood stock-still amidst the flow of commuters. Male. Tall, over six feet at least, well-muscled and broad. He was wearing a baseball cap over pale hair, hiding most of his face as he leaned casually against a wall. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and then, for exactly five seconds, he looked straight into the camera. Dick saw the familiar gruff features, the eye patch, and the hint of a wolfish smile. Slade.

Then, just as quickly as he’d looked up, he turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

“What do you think it means?” Dick asked aloud, though he already knew the answer: Slade wanted them to know he was here.

Bruce didn’t humor him. Instead, he flipped to yet another clip. This time to what looked like dashcam footage from a police car. It showed a warehouse scene where several fire trucks had gathered to battle the flames that had engulfed the entire structure.

Bruce waited a few more seconds to let Dick take it in, then spoke, “Shortly after 3:00 am this morning, police were called to a scene of an alleged arms deal between the Penguin and Black Mask. The exchange was interrupted when several explosions went off that rendered the merchandise unsaleable. There were multiple injuries, but no fatalities. Several suspects were apprehended and questioned. They all unanimously implicated the Red Hood. And Deathstroke.”

“Jason’s back as Red Hood?” Dick shook his head in confusion. “Why didn’t he contact us? And he’s working _with_ Deathstroke?”

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but Dick could hear the creaking of his leather gloves as he curled his hands into tight fists. “We have to consider the possibility that Jason's been compromised in some way.”

Dick wanted to disagree, wished desperately that he could, but it was more likely the case than not. Still, he didn’t want to assume that Jason had betrayed them. “He could be brainwashed,” Dick suggested, “or mind-controlled. We don’t know what Slade did to him, and Jason’s been held captive for over two months.”

“I know.” It came out almost like a snarl, Bruce’s jaw clenched so tightly Dick could see the muscles bulge at the edge of his jaw. “If your earlier hypothesis is true, that Jason and Slade have been karmically entangled, then Jason could be _under the influence_ of his soulmark.”

Dick’s heart sank at those words. He had been stricken with guilt and horror when he’d learned that Jason had been soulmarked with the Joker, but being tied to Slade wasn’t necessarily any better. Fate no longer damned him to another horrific death at the hands of the psychotic clown, but Jason was still forever karmically tied to a man who profited from murder. Even though Dick had been the first to draw the connection, he didn’t want this for Jason. He couldn't help but feel that he was somehow responsible.

It didn't help that there was a hint of accusation in Bruce's tone either. When he'd explained that Slade had a robin marked upon his arm, Bruce had been furious. He didn't say the words aloud, but Dick knew Bruce blamed him for this. How could he not, when Dick blamed himself too? If he'd realized sooner, then maybe he could have kept Jason safe….

_"You should have told me earlier," _Bruce had growled. _"We could have planned. We could have been prepared for this."_

_"I thought it was just an unreciprocated soulmark." _Dick explained._ "I thought… I thought it was my problem… I dealt with it. I didn’t pursue it, and after Wally and I got our marks, I figured it was over. I never thought it could be Jason. I should have known…."_

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been so blind as to think that Slade would stop with him. The older man had come on strong, and at times, Slade had been extremely convincing. Dick had been young and inexperienced, and the allure of danger Slade presented had been hard to resist. Dick had the benefit of not having a reciprocal soulmark though, which gave him the ability to differentiate and compartmentalize his feelings.

Jason wouldn't have that. Karmic impressions could be overpowering, and with Jason put under duress, he could have easily become confused by what he was feeling. Slade would have used that to his advantage. That coupled with the psychological effects of being held in captivity would have left Jason extremely vulnerable to manipulation.

“If Jason's under the influence of his soulmark, then it’s not his fault,” Dick said firmly. He wanted to be sure Bruce acknowledged that. “You saw the footage. You saw what Slade did and how Jason reacted. He wanted no part of it. He was forced into this situation, and regardless of how he feels about this now, we have to help him get out of it.”

Something like pain flickered across Bruce's face, but he nodded. “We have to find him first. Based on intel Oracle gathered, I've charted out the most likely scenarios Jason will tackle next as the Red Hood. We'll scout them out tonight. Get ready."

Bruce pulled on his cowl and made toward the batmobile. Dick followed, taking a deep breath in a feeble attempt to quell the anger, anxiousness, and self-incrimination tangled like a knot in his gut.

They would find Slade. Dick was sure of it, and they would fix this. They would make things right for Jason. He didn't know how, but they would find a way.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Dick spotted them first. It had taken another three nights for them to track down any signs of Jason, and when they finally did, it was on a rooftop adjacent to one of Black Mask’s offices. It looked like Jason was setting up some sort of surveillance array, calibrating a set of small cameras that he would probably deposit at various positions around the area. It was standard procedure for anyone in their line of work, which indicated that Jason had returned to Gotham to pick up where he left off as the Red Hood. That by itself should have been a relief—to know that Jason was alive and functioning and at least on the surface physically unharmed—except for the fact that Jason wasn't alone.

Slade was with him.

Dick hunkered down out of sight a few buildings away and pinged Bruce to rendezvous. They had split up to cover more ground, even though it meant he now had to wait for Bruce to double back.

“Do not engage until my say," Bruce buzzed through on the comm.

"Copy," Dick replied, tamping down his impulse to jump in. He'd taken on Slade before, but confronting the world’s deadliest assassin head-on was tricky even for Batman, and with Jason in the mix, they’d have more success at retrieving him unharmed if they approached as a team. They didn't know what state Jason would be in either. They had to be prepared for a scenario in which Jason would fight.

Dick turned back to observe the two men as he waited. They appeared to be talking, though Dick was too far away to hear their voices and they both wore their respective helmet and mask, preventing him from lip reading. Jason waved his arms in the air at one point as Slade stood stoically beside him. He didn't appear to be at risk or any immediate threat. He didn't appear to be acting under duress or concerned with Slade's close proximity.

That was a bad sign. It looked less and less like Jason was going to come with them voluntarily if Dick and Bruce tried to separate them.

There was the barest hint of a flutter behind him, accompanied by a subtle shift in the values of the surrounding shadows. Dick didn't need to turn to know that Batman had landed behind him. He felt Bruce approach and kneel to his left, joining him in silent observation as they assessed the situation.

Jason was talking more animatedly now as he knelt on the floor to calibrate another camera. He seemed agitated about something, and Slade was positioning himself more aggressively, almost looming over him. It made Dick's hackles rise. Slade had tried that on him before in an attempt to intimidate him. It hadn't worked, but seeing it used on someone else—seeing it used on _Jason_—had his protective instincts bubbling up in full effect.

"Can you make out what they're saying?" Dick turned to Bruce, who had a long-range mic out. He was holding himself still in a way that Dick knew meant Bruce was listening through his cowl.

"They're disagreeing about Black Mask," Bruce replied. He didn't elaborate further, and Dick wasn't currently tapped into his feed, so he returned to observing to allow Bruce to focus.

Jason was standing face-to-face with Slade now, hands on his hips in a classic pose of defiance. Perhaps all hope was not lost if Jason was fighting through whatever mind control or leverage Slade had over him. Predictably, Slade didn't back down. Instead, he pushed forward, and in one smooth motion—and with a quickness that reflected his metahuman enhancements—he swept Jason's legs out from under him and tackled him to the floor. Jason twisted as he hit the ground, attempting to roll, but Slade was ready for him. He grabbed Jason's forearm—right over the spot where Dick had previously seen Jason's soulmark of the Joker, and suddenly the fight in Jason dropped away. Instead, Jason arched upward under Slade, a different sort of tension now running through his frame. Slade took the opportunity to unlatch and remove Jason’s helmet, then he repositioned himself between Jason’s legs, pushing his thighs apart as Slade knelt between them.

Dick didn’t like this. Not at all. As far as Dick could tell, Slade had all the advantage and something was very _off _about Jason. It wasn’t like him to capitulate so easily under any circumstances. Dick felt that surge of protectiveness again as he turned to Bruce to confirm their plan of attack, only to find the other man had already grappled off the ledge.

Shit. Dick scrambled after him, shooting off his own line to swing down in the wake of Bruce’s fluttering black cape. Dick could only move so fast to catch up though, and Bruce was already using the momentum from his trajectory to barrel straight into a furious attack.

Slade, for his part, had already gotten to his feet. Bruce went for him hard, knocking him away from Jason and aiming a brutal kick that would have cracked more than a few ribs had it landed solidly. Slade was fast, however. He countered, matching Bruce’s attacks blow for blow.

"What the fuck?" Jason staggered up from where he'd been lying prone on the floor. He appeared disoriented, though Dick couldn’t see his eyes under the domino mask he had on.

"J–, Hood, are you okay?" Dick had landed close by and moved to help him, reaching a hand out to catch his arm, but Jason shoved him back, ducking away instead to draw his guns. He immediately aimed and fired a bevy of shots toward where Slade and Bruce were deep in combat. It forced Bruce to break his offensive on Slade.

Dick suppressed the stab of betrayal that speared through him. _It wasn't Jason's fault,_ he reminded himself. Slade was pulling his strings somehow, and though they had yet to confirm it, Dick was willing to bet that the Joker-mark on Jason's arm was now gone, replaced with some other karmic declaration that paired Jason with the ruthless assassin before them. Dick knew Fate could be cruel, but somehow this new twist felt particularly malicious—some kind of karmic double jeopardy that punished Jason disproportionately for some noumenal karmic crime. That didn't mean Dick was going to stand by and let Jason be Slade's karmic martyr.

He launched forward to tackle Jason before he could join the melee, but Jason rolled with the fall, springing up with a kick aimed right at Dick's face. Dick managed to block, raising both arms to absorb the force of the impact with his gauntlets, but it was enough of a disruption that Jason was able to slip away. He maneuvered out of Dick's immediate range and fired several more shots that drove Bruce into evasive tactics, which gave Slade an opening. Slade landed a solid hit that knocked the wind out of Bruce.

Dick jumped in before Slade could follow through, throwing three concussive discs between them that halted further attacks. Dick moved to flank on the opposite side to try and draw Slade's attention away.

"You've got some nerve, Slade," he taunted, diverting Slade's attention to himself, "coming back here after doing what you did to Jason, but it ends now!"

“What is it you think I did, Grayson?" Slade cocked his head, "other than save Jason from Fate's mistake?”

"Don't pretend like I don't know you." Dick flipped into a double-heeled kick, then a rapid succession of jabs aimed to disarm Slade of the titanium staff he had drawn. "Don't pretend like I don't know that you're just using him to get what you want."

"Pot calling the kettle black." Slade managed to catch Dick mid-flip on the shoulder with the edge of his staff, sending Dick into a hard landing. Then he returned to his offensive on Bruce, who had regrouped to rejoin the fray.

“I didn’t train him to die in some stupid child-crusade,” Slade swiped his staff through the air, his attacks vicious and relentless. Bruce was losing ground as Slade added, “I didn’t leave him hanging in the wind for _years_ knowing that the sick bastard who murdered him was out there, just waiting to do it again.”

Slade wasn't just brutal with his fists, he was going straight for the heart with his words too, and they were not without effect. Dick felt it like a punch to the gut, and Bruce was practically vibrating with rage. It distracted Dick enough that he barely avoided another downswing of Slade’s staff. Chips of asphalt went flying, and Dick was barely able to spring away to realign his position with Bruce. All the while, both he and Bruce were dodging Jason’s cover fire. Taking down Slade wasn't ever going to be easy, and it was now multiplied by the fact that Jason had taken the opposition side.

Jason rounded around the other side now, positioning himself beside Slade to square off against Dick and Bruce.

They were at a standstill.

"Jason, stop this." Bruce's voice was nearly an unintelligible growl. On the surface, he was still shielded behind the stone-cold persona of Batman, but Dick could hear something else strung into his tones—a tightness in his voice that bled through the anger. He was desperately concerned, but doing everything he could not to show it. "You're coming with us," he commanded, with the sort of authority that Dick knew meant Bruce would do everything possible to make it the truth.

“No," Jason spat. He was having none of it. "I'm not your damned puppy. You attacked us out of fucking nowhere. I’m not going anywhere with you."

“You said you were going to deal with this" Slade interjected. He made a show of trading his staff for his sword, "Or do you want _me _to?”

Jason visibly stiffened, clenching his jaw as he scowled. "No. This is _my_ problem. I’ll deal with them. Split up. Meet me back at the safehouse."

Slade didn't move immediately. He was still masked, but Dick could see him assessing, glancing first at Bruce, then Dick. When he did finally move, it was to grab Jason's forearm over where his soulmark was. "Fine.” He sounded displeased, “but I'll only give you 'til morning. Then I'm coming for you."

Slade turned to leave, and Bruce immediately made to head him off, but Jason blocked his path.

"Eyes on me, old man. This is between _us_." Jason launched a kick at Bruce at the same time he threw an explosive charge at Dick. The blast was small and easily avoided, but it was enough that Dick had to bound several paces back to avoid the blast radius. Jason's tactics effectively prevented them both from following after Slade.

Bruce retaliated with a series of blows that sent Jason staggering backward. He landed a strike to Jason's ribs that left him wheezing. Dick tag-teamed before Jason could recover, grabbing him from behind and pulling him into a chokehold. Bruce quickly followed up with a spray sedative to his face. Dick released his hold, and Jason gasped, sucking in a lungful of the gas.

Jason teetered on his feet for several seconds as he backpedaled and then collapsed unconscious. Bruce caught him before he hit the ground.

Dick turned to scan the area for any signs of Slade, but the assassin was long gone.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

They secured Jason in the batmobile and made it to the batcave in record time. Bruce didn't talk on the way back, and Dick found that for once, he wasn't keen on breaking the silence either. He was just glad that they had Jason back safe and unharmed, at least physically. His mental state, however, was yet to be determined. Judging by Jason’s behavior just now, Bruce had been right. Jason had been _compromised._

Dick let out a heavy sigh, but felt none of the relief he had been hoping for as he considered their options. Karmic entanglement had a way of changing people, and the dark side was that sometimes it changed people for the worse. Jason had sided against them with Slade, but at the same time, there were encouraging signs too. He hadn't outright tried to kill them for one. None of the bullets Jason had aimed targeted anything fatal. _None of them._ Jason was an excellent marksman, and if he had truly wanted to go for blood, both Dick and Bruce wouldn't have come out of it as they were, which was for the most part unscathed. Neither he nor Bruce suffered any major injuries beyond a few bruises. Furthermore, when given the chance, Jason had intervened and sent Slade away before he could attack with a more lethal weapon. That was a hopeful sign for sure, and Dick clung to it.

Once they arrived in the cave, Bruce hefted Jason, still unconscious, into the med-bay. He peeled off Jason's leather jacket and unbuckled his weapons holsters, then proceeded to reach for the zipper of his armored shirt, presumably to strip him down and check for injuries. He pulled it down to Jason's collar, then paused. Bruce had pushed back his cowl, and Dick could see he was grinding his teeth.

Dick leaned forward to look at what had Bruce's temper so piqued—there was a series of red welts at the notch of Jason's neck and shoulder. Judging by the size and position, they were love bites. _Hickeys._ Left by none other than Slade.

Bruce looked like he wanted to strangle someone.

"B," Dick warned, barely managing to control his own outrage. He took a deep breath, refocusing his intention before continuing with, "Check his soulmark."

Bruce nodded and finished pulling open the zipper of Jason's armor. Dick noted the vivid red bruising that colored Jason's ribs—probably a consequence from their earlier fight—before Bruce pulled the rest of the shirt away to reveal Jason's arms.

There it was. The ugly, white-faced Joker with the green hair was gone. In its place was a wolf, the bisected orange-black face a clear indicator of none other than Deathstroke. Slade Wilson.

Some ineffable emotion welled up inside Dick, and he found himself turning away. He couldn't look at it. His throat felt tight, his eyes stung with the threat of tears because this somehow felt like grief. Seeing Slade's soulmark upon Jason's arm felt like his little brother was somehow forever lost to them.

_That’s not true. Jason’s not completely lost to us. He’s still here, alive, and breathing_, Dick reprimanded himself. He would see Jason through this, and he would see that Jason stayed within the fold of the family, even if the wolfmark on Jason’s arm threatened the opposite.

There was a sudden crashing sound and Dick spun to see Bruce had thrown a chair into the med-bay terminal. If he'd been angry before, he was now apoplectic, and Dick had the fleeting thought that he was going to take it out on Jason. It was irrational. Bruce wouldn't do that, would he? Nevertheless, Dick positioned himself between them just in case.

Bruce approached Jason again, and Dick tensed.

“What are you doing?” Dick felt suddenly alarmed as Bruce reached for the restraints on the gurney.

“He’s going to want to leave,” Bruce’s voice was painfully hoarse, as if straining like a dam struggling to hold back his fury. “We need to make sure he doesn’t.”

He was about to lock Jason's wrist into the first restraint when he paused again, eyes narrowed, the edges of his mouth drawing back again into a pained grimace.

Dick followed Bruce's gaze to see that there were cuts encircling Jason's wrists, indicating that at some point Jason had already been restrained. The cuts looked recent too. They were relatively shallow but the skin was still red and raised. Dick watched as Bruce dropped the gurney restraint to gently run his fingers over Jason's wounds. He looked stricken for a brief moment, but then reached for the restraints again.

"Bruce, don't." Dick grabbed his hand to stop him. "We need to _talk_ to him."

"We will. _After_ we're sure he isn't a danger to himself or us."

It didn't feel right, but Bruce wasn't wrong. Jason was volatile even before this whole soulmark situation started, so Dick reluctantly let Bruce proceed. Bruce initiated the first restraint, grabbing Jason's arm with the wolfmark and locking his wrist into the cuff. Bruce was pressing Jason's other wrist into the second restraint when Jason suddenly jerked his arm out of Bruce's grasp.

"What the fuck? Bruce?" Jason was awake, his eyes wide as he quickly sat up. He tugged at the wrist that was locked to the gurney, but it held fast. Bruce had designed them to hold down metas if necessary, a fact Jason clearly didn't appreciate. "Let me go."

"I will when I'm sure that you're not under mind control." Bruce seemed to make a conscious effort to take his anger down a notch. Then, gentling his voice, he asked, "What did Slade do to you?"

Jason narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You're working with him," Bruce replied, "and I want to know why."

"You mean other than the fact that we're karmically paired?" Jason waved his free hand at the wolfmark.

Bruce curled his lip in disdain at that. "Are you sleeping with him?"

"Excuse me?" Jason’s mouth twisted to match. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

"It is if he _forced_ you into sleeping with him," Bruce stated.

Jason genuinely looked shocked at that. "He didn't–, that is _not_ what happened!"

"Then why didn't you contact us when you came back, Jason?” Dick cut in this time. “We’ve been worried sick. The last time I saw you, you ran away terrified. Slade kidnapped you, and suddenly you’re back, and you don’t even tell us you’re alright!”

Dick had made a valiant effort to keep his cool, but by the end of it he was nearly shouting. His emotions were running high, because his fears for Jason were coming into fruition in all of the worst ways conceivable.

They were further substantiated when Jason looked away, some guilt creeping into his mien as he murmured, “We… worked things out. Slade and I… we can make this work.”

“You don't see it.” Dick’s voice nearly broke as he said it aloud.

“See what?”

“Think about it, Jason.” Dick loosened his shoulders and unclenched his fists, making a conscious effort to relax his body language. It ran counter to what he was feeling, but Jason was extremely reactive to aggression, and Dick hoped that this way Jason would be more receptive.

“Just look at this objectively,” he continued. “What if there wasn't a soulmark involved? He attacked you. He kidnapped you. He forced you to watch him commit a murder. Then he took you away, isolated you, and cut you off completely from anyone who would have tried to help you. He kept you captive for _months._ He probably forced you to rely on him for basic survival. When you surfaced again, you're suddenly in a _relationship_ with him. Tell me, what does that sound like to you?”

“I don't….” Jason trailed off, swallowing his words.

“You had to find a way to cope, Jason.” Bruce approached him slowly, reaching a tentative hand to touch Jason's shoulder. “This happens sometimes with victims of captivity. You know this. You learned this when you were Robin. You know what it's called.”

Jason turned to him, his breathing going ragged as he said, “Stockholm Syndrome. You think I have Stockholm Syndrome.”

Dick nodded, his heart aching at the way Jason’s expression gradually broke into distress. It seemed they were getting through to him. He was starting to question what Slade had done.

“It's not too late," Dick said gently. "You still have a choice. You don't have to do this. You don't have to choose Slade. People have done it before. Look at Roy and Cheshire. It was hard, but he chose not to let his soulmark dictate his fate, and he's been better for it. People have chosen to walk away from karmic entanglement.”

"You want me to walk away." It wasn't a question. Jason was getting agitated. He pulled away from Bruce as much as he could with his wrist still locked to the gurney. He shook his head, a last-ditch effort at denial. "Stop. Just stop. Whatever you're trying to do, it's too late."

"We're trying to protect you," Bruce reached out again, but Jason slapped his hand away.

"Protect me? Then where the fuck were you when I wanted you to protect me from the Joker?"

"This is different," Bruce insisted.

"Is it?" Jason contended, his anguish quickly turning to anger. "Do you think I could have walked away from the Joker _murdering me_ a second time? You figured Fate putting me back in the ground would have been okay, but being paired with Slade isn't?"

Bruce winced at that, but he kept his resolve. "Jason, you know it's not that simple."

"No. I don't know that at all," Jason spat as he struggled against the restraint. "What are you gonna do? Try and keep me here until I agree with you? Lock me up and keep me _captive_ until I get some kind of _reverse_ Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Jason, calm down." Dick put himself between Jason and Bruce again. "We just want to make sure you're okay."

"Fuck that!" He suddenly threw something upward with his free hand—an incendiary batarang Bruce must have missed in his initial body search. It struck the ceiling and then burst into flames, then spread across the room as the foam propellant expanded and clung to the surfaces. The med-bay had the least stringent security measures compared to the holding cells, and Jason took advantage of that. The life-preservation failsafes triggered and the gurney restraint automatically released.

Bruce lunged for him, but Jason managed to kick out at him, twisting out of his grasp to bolt away. Dick ran after him, catching hold of his arm just as he made it to the vehicle platform.

Jason spun on him. "Don't fucking touch me," he cried out, his eyes wild with panic. He was practically heaving, which Dick realized belatedly was probably incredibly painful for Jason, judging by the way he clutched at his bruised ribs with his hands.

Dick immediately let him go, holding his hands out so Jason could see them and taking a step back. "Jason, wait," he pleaded, trying to inject as much sincerity into his tone as he could. "Don't run. We messed up, and I'm sorry. Why don't we start over? I'll get Alfred and we can go upstairs and talk."

Jason hesitated, and for a moment Dick thought he would agree, but then Bruce came up beside him and Jason was immediately on guard again. He pivoted, watching warily as he angled to make for one of the bat-cycles.

Bruce was about to pursue, but Dick put out a hand to stop him. He shook his head, hoping Bruce would get the hint. He did, albeit reluctantly, and he backed down to let Dick talk.

"Jason, remember that you have a choice. Ask yourself if you really want this. Can you honestly say that you would have consented to this if Slade hadn't put you in this situation? Would you have consented if you didn't have your soulmark?"

Jason remained still, emotions warring on his face as he considered Dick's words. The fact that he hadn't immediately run away again was a good sign, but things were never easy with Jason.

"You're saying I have a choice?" Jason threw back. "Does that mean you're giving me a choice right now to leave here?"

Dick reluctantly nodded. "If you insist on going, we won't stop you. We won't keep you prisoner here. I hope you can see the difference, that we're giving you a choice, and that once you see we're trying to help, you'll come back."

Jason looked skeptical, but Dick and Bruce didn't make a move as Jason moved back toward the vehicles to mount one of the bat-cycles. Jason swung a leg over the seat and then paused, glancing over his shoulder at Dick, then Bruce. He seemed to waver again, but ultimately he turned away, gunning the engine as he sped out of the cave.

"You let him leave." There was no anger in Bruce's voice, just a despondency that Dick rarely observed in him, a testament to just how much the situation with Jason had affected him. Dick could see the sorrow and pain drawn in the furrow of his brows and in the downturn of his mouth.

Dick felt it too, a sick feeling of worry and devastation at what Slade had done. A feeling of helplessness and failure to prevent Jason from leaving again, but there wasn't anything else Dick could have done short of imprisoning him.

"You saw how he reacted, Bruce. We were going to lose him by forcing him to stay here." Perhaps Dick said it to console himself as much as Bruce.

"We can track him." Bruce marched back toward the batcomputer. "He might even lead us back to Slade."

"Maybe." Dick watched as Bruce brought up a map, the red dot of the tracker in the bat-cycle blinking further and further away from the manor. "You saw it though. He has doubts now. We have to trust that he'll make the right decision. Slade didn't give him a choice, but we have to show Jason that _we_ will."

Bruce didn't respond, clearly doubtful, and in truth Dick wasn't willing to leave it solely up to Jason either. His decision making was questionable, given the influence of the soulmark. Plus he'd need support and backup if he wanted to get away from Slade but couldn't.

"Let me follow him alone," Dick said. "I might have a better chance at getting him to come back."

"No." Bruce shook his head. "Slade's too dangerous. I won't let you take him on by yourself."

"I know Slade." It was Dick's turn to feel incensed at Bruce's assumptions. "He won't kill me, and I'm pretty sure Jason won't allow it even if it comes to that. Trust me on this."

Bruce glowered at him, but finally relented. "Fine, but I'll be ready in the batplane if needed."

Dick geared up on another cycle and headed out, opening the comms so Bruce could guide him to follow the tracker. He took a deep breath as he gunned the engine, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever came next. He'd taken a risk letting Jason leave, but he could only trust his gut that he'd done the right thing as he headed out to bring Jason home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those in the US, hope you had a happy Thanksgiving. It took a while to crank this one out, but its longer than my normal chapters. Hope ya'll like it :)

True to Dick's word, no one attempted to stop Jason as he zoomed past the batcave's security points. He’d expected Bruce to initiate a lockdown or that he would remotely shut down the stolen bat-cycle, but his path stayed clear as he sped out into the early morning darkness. He tightened his grip on the handles, trying to ignore how his ribs ached something fierce with each breath he took. At least the chill of icy wind against his bare skin helped to numb the pain. He’d been stupid to storm out of the cave without even putting a shirt on, but he’d been on the verge of panic and desperate to get away.

It was only the rush of adrenaline that kept him going, and his heart was still racing from his encounter with Dick and Bruce. A tangled mess of anger, resentment and fear warred in the pit of his stomach, and he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears even over the roar of the bat-cycle engine. He managed to hold himself together long enough to skitter into the edge of town, where he quickly abandoned the bike and stumbled through the streets to make for one of his emergency vaults.

Jason trudged into a narrow alleyway to the secluded entrance, and punched a code into the security panel. He practically fell through the doorway, the strain and exhaustion from the night finally catching up to him. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, sliding down onto the floor and trying to calm his breathing in an attempt to get his bearings.

He forced himself to focus: he needed a change of clothes, he needed weapons, and he needed to get someplace safe. The vault he was in was relatively secure, but it was too close to where he had abandoned the bat-cycle. He didn’t want Dick or Bruce to come looking for him. Jason had expected them to be angry and disappointed in his partnering with Slade, but he hadn’t anticipated that they would try and convince him that he’d been brainwashed.

_"Can you honestly say that you would have consented to this if Slade hadn't put you in this situation?"_ Dick's words echoed unbidden through his mind, and Jason couldn't help the niggling feeling of doubt that had taken root.

Would he have wanted Slade as a partner if not for the soulmark? There was a faint tingle at the juncture of his forearm as he thought of the other man—a subtle heat that had him automatically pressing his palm over the image of the wolf so he could feel the karmic impressions. A flood of warmth spread through him. It felt grounding, that familiar throb of emotion deep in his heart… but was it supposed to _ache_ like that? It didn’t actually hurt… it just felt like a _pull _of something. Was that what one was supposed to feel with a partner?

Jason didn’t really know, and when Jason wasn’t sure of something he tended to fall back on his instincts, which were screaming at him to get back to his safehouse. He needed to stop dawdling and get himself together. He wanted to get home. He wanted… he wanted _Slade_.

Or did he?

_Would you have consented if you didn't have your soulmark? _Dick had said, and Jason’s mind was spiraling again. Looking back, he couldn’t help but remember that he had called Slade out on exactly the same thing—that he had isolated Jason and forced him to be dependent on Slade—but for some reason, somewhere along the way, he had stopped being concerned about it. There were also things that Slade had done that Jason wasn’t entirely comfortable with in the beginning. Slade had been pushy, and they had gotten intimate almost immediately. Unless Jason outright said no, Slade had gone ahead and done whatever he wanted, and though the sex was good, sometimes Jason was too overwhelmed with karmic impressions to process what he was doing.

Did he want it inasmuch as much the soulmark simply forced him to accept it? Had the karmic influence overruled his own rational thought? Did running back to Slade make Dick right? Or did that mean Dick was wrong? Was he so blindly affected—under the power of a manipulative karmic spell—that he was now running back to his captor? Or did his entanglement with Slade actually mean what it felt like? That Slade would keep him safe.

Did Slade… love him?

The thought seemed to creep into his head out of nowhere, but it immediately had his pulse quickening. He didn’t want to think about it, because any answer to that was somehow terrifying. Instead he hauled himself to stand and began rifling through his supplies to find gear. He pulled on a basic shirt and jacket, opting for a hip holster over a shoulder one given his injuries, and headed out of the vault.

His ribs were too tender to make grappling over the rooftops practical, so Jason stuck to the streets, meandering through the back alleys as much as possible to avoid being seen. He only made it a few blocks however, when he noticed subtle movement at the edges of the skyline. Jason immediately ducked under an overhang, gun drawn and ready to defend from potential attacks.

No sooner had he taken cover, than did someone drop quietly down behind him. Jason spun to face his attacker, aiming to pistol whip whoever had attempted to sneak up on him, but he barely made a half turn before a quick counter blow disarmed him of his gun. Then, instead of a follow up attack, his would-be attacker intertwined his fingers with Jason's and pulled him forward.

It was Slade, dressed in his Deathstroke gear. "You're slow," he said before Jason could utter his surprise. Slade followed up with, "Are you injured?"

"N- no," Jason stammered out the denial on reflex. "How did you know I was here?"

“I told you I'd come for you by morning." Slade's face was fully masked, but Jason could still feel his gaze wandering over him, assessing. "I saw one of your vaults had been opened.”

“You saw one of my vaults? _How?_” Jason didn't remember ever giving Slade the information to his security systems.

Slade didn't answer. He just grabbed Jason’s arm, rubbing his thumb against the wolfmark through Jason’s shirtsleeve and tugging forward. “Come on,” he said, urging Jason to follow.

Jason found himself trailing after him. The warmth of karmic impressions washed over him, momentarily obliterating any of the doubts that had plagued him earlier. He suddenly felt like he desperately wanted the solid reassurances Slade’s presence offered. Jason already felt calmer and less anxious, like following after Slade was the most natural thing to do.

They made it to a car tucked away on a side street, and Jason climbed into the back seat, relieved to be finally off his feet. The pain in his ribs had started to throb more and more, now that the adrenaline rush had subsided.

Slade removed his mask and pulled on a long coat to hide his gear before taking the driver’s seat. He looked back at Jason with a frown, but didn’t say anything as he turned the ignition and sped off. Jason leaned back, closing his eyes and keeping his breath shallow to try and relieve some of the pressure on his chest. He must have passed out at some point, because the next thing he knew, Slade was dragging him into an elevator and up toward their safehouse.

Once they got upstairs, Slade pulled him into the bathroom and began stripping him down. Jason let it happen, feeling oddly detached as a fog of numbness settled over him. He’d spent the latter half of the night with his emotions ratcheted up to eleven, with Dick and Bruce getting into his head, upturning his mental foundations until he’d come out on the other side with the armor of his resolve in tatters. He felt battered into submission, a part of himself gladly retreating into the safety that was Slade's steady hands. He let his mind go blank as Slade guided him through the motions. He let himself be pushed into the shower, the warm spray enveloped him, and it wasn't until he felt Slade prodding gently at his bruised ribs, eliciting an involuntary gasp from the pain, that Jason realized the other man had been talking to him.

"You with me?" Slade switched off the water, staring at Jason intently, the piercing blue of his single eye fixed on Jason until he nodded back. That wasn’t quite enough to satisfy Slade, and he continued with, "What did those bastards do to you?"

"Nothing," Jason replied. For some reason he suddenly felt defensive. He couldn't quite codify why in his brain, but he didn't want Slade to know what Dick and Bruce had tried to do. He somehow felt ashamed, and it didn't help that standing naked in the shower put him in a position of vulnerability, especially with Slade blocking his exit just outside the clear glass door.

"Really? So you're telling me you ran yourself into your own fist and nearly cracked your own ribs?" Slade snarled, seeing right through Jason's thin veneer of deniability. Slade’s posture radiated aggression, his arms held slightly raised to his sides, his hands balled into fists, the line of his shoulders taut. It reminded Jason of how Bruce took the same pose on occasion before he lashed out. He’d seen the same before that from his father, Willis.

Jason found himself feeling on guard, and his wariness didn’t go without notice. Slade narrowed his eye as he looked him up and down, his mouth pressed into a thin line. There was the briefest flicker of some indeterminable thought that ran across Slade's face—drawing some conclusion that Jason couldn't even begin to guess at—before Slade slowly uncurled his fists. Jason watched him, still tense. Everything Slade did—everything he touched, whether it be a vicious blow or placating caress—was always deliberate and calculated, and Jason instinctively braced himself for whatever Slade's next move was.

Slade reached to the side and Jason nearly flinched, but Slade only grabbed a towel, shaking it out and holding it lengthwise before he reached into the shower. He used it to rub dry Jason's hair, and then wrapped it around his shoulders.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Slade pulled Jason forward to step out of the shower, then kissed him.

He felt the familiar feel of Slade's lips press against his own. He licked and teased at Jason's mouth, reaching to cup the back of Jason's head and urging Jason to open up so Slade could push his tongue inside.

Jason hesitated, resisting Slade's advances as he tried to sort out his warring feelings. Was he being stupid, thinking only a moment ago that Slade was going to hit him? At the moment, he was having trouble parsing out whether he should still be wary, relieved, or appalled at himself.

Slade had no such reservations. He proceeded to graze his hand over the wolfmark on Jason’s arm, and Jason felt his reluctance dissolving. The confusing tangle of anxiety and doubt melted away and Jason reflexively relaxed, allowing Slade to fully claim his mouth. The older man tangled his fingers into Jason's damp hair, tilting his head back so Slade could deepen the kiss.

For someone as brutal and deadly as Slade, he could be surprisingly gentle when it came to kissing. Jason had plenty of experience at this point with Slade's proclivity for more vigorous sex, and for the most part the other man fucked like he fought—he was demanding, dominant, and if Jason gave an inch, Slade would take a mile—but that didn’t mean he was lacking in any ability to draw out pleasure at the pace that suited him. If anything, when Slade slowed down it just meant that he was at his most advantageous, exerting the full extent of his meticulous control.

Slade was pressing in and swirling their tongues together, pulling back to lick and suck and tease at Jason’s puckered mouth until his lips were swollen and wet, then diving in to plunge his tongue deep into Jason’s mouth again. Jason whimpered into the kiss. Slade was still stroking along his soulmark, and there was that deep pull at his heart again. That deep ache that Jason couldn’t make sense of.

Was this how he was supposed to feel? Was he doing this now, only because Slade had touched the wolfmark? Did it really mean what it felt like? How could he know for sure?

Or was it some sort of karmic manipulation for Slade’s own gain… except the karmic impressions worked both ways, didn't they?

Slade pulled on Jason's hair until his head was fully tilted back, then moved down to suckle at the column of Jason's throat until he let out another whine of pleasure. He could feel himself flushing, his cock stirring and twitching as Slade moved a hand to cup over his groin. Jason let sucked in a breath, and _shit._ It hurt.

“Agh!” Jason yelped and pushed Slade away. He retreated backward until his back hit the shower wall. Jason wrapped his arms around his bruised ribs, squeezing his eyes shut and slowing his breathing until the flare of agony subsided. When he looked up, Slade was scowling at him.

"How much pain are you in?" Slade had his hand out, palm open, a silent invitation for Jason to lean on him for support.

Jason hissed through clenched teeth, but managed a garbled, "I'm fine."

He knew he wasn't convincing anyone, and unsurprisingly, Slade merely snorted in disbelief. He kept his hand out though, flapping his fingers impatiently a couple times as he said, "Come on. Or are you going to stay in the fucking shower all night?"

Jason sighed and took Slade's hand, leveraging his weight as he let himself be guided out of the shower and into the bedroom. Slade helped him ease down onto his back on the bed, tossing the damp towel into a corner and then pulling the covers over Jason's nude form. After that, Slade began shuffling around the room, pulling a duffle bag out from the closet and then stuffing clothes into it from various drawers. It looked like he was packing.

"What are you doing?" Jason asked as he struggled to prop himself up on an elbow.

"Getting us packed. We're leaving," Slade said matter-of-factly. "I'm taking a job, and you're coming with me."

"What?" Jason didn't try to hide his surprise. He'd only just gotten back to Gotham… barely even started re-establishing himself, and now Slade wanted them to leave? Also, if Slade was taking a job, that probably meant he was taking a _hit,_ and that had Jason feeling uneasy. Of course he knew what Slade did—he was called _Deathstroke_ for a reason—and this had all started because Slade had taken a contract on the Red Hood, but thus far they'd managed to avoid actually talking about the subject because Slade hadn't been actively working.

It looked like Slade had no intentions of retiring any time soon, and it presented a moral dilemma Jason hadn't fully rationalized. Could Jason stand by while Slade took someone out on contract?

Not if he knew the person was innocent.

"Who's the target?" Jason found himself asking.

Slade shrugged. “Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to.”

Okay. Maybe Slade had a point in that they weren’t quite ready for this conversation, but Jason followed up with, “Where then?”

“You'll know when we get there.”

Jason hated that paternalistic tone, and he immediately blurted out, “I'm not leaving,” without even fully processing what he had been thinking, but once he said it, he felt relieved. He didn’t want to tag along with Slade while he did jobs. He didn’t want to leave Gotham. He had plans… he had things he wanted to do… he didn’t want to drop all of that in favor of Slade’s whims.

Slade was unperturbed. He didn’t even look up as he shoved a few of Jason’s t-shirts into a bag and replied, “You are. And that's final.”

“No.” Jason felt the irrational urge to stomp his foot. At least the silver lining of lying naked and in pain under the covers saved him from that particular act of embarrassing childishness. Nevertheless, he continued, “I’m not going to drop everything to follow you around just because you want me to.”

“Really?” Slade finally turned to look at him, parking his hands on his hips as he said, “When that’s exactly what I did in coming to Gotham for you?”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but then bit back a retort. Slade wasn’t wrong. He had deferred whatever plans he had to satisfy Jason’s need to return to Gotham. Was Jason being unfair now, in not wanting to return the favor?

When Jason failed to answer, Slade proceeded with, “I let you go off on your own tonight because you said you could handle it. I thought I'd give you time to tell those jackasses what our deal is and tell them to fuck off. Clearly you weren't ready.” He stepped closer now, putting a knee on the bed and leaning over Jason to reach for the soulmark on his arm.

With everything that had happened tonight, with the doubts that Dick and Bruce had planted—the suggestion that karmic entanglement had robbed him of his free will—Jason immediately pulled away. He could barely figure out what he was feeling at the moment, without having the added onslaught of karmic impressions forced on him.

“Would you quit it?” he exclaimed, surprising both himself and Slade. “Just… stop touching me,” he added more sullenly.

Slade pulled his hand back and practically growled, “Whatever they did tonight, whatever they said to you, they fucked you up in the head.”

“I was already fucked up,” Jason said, a lump forming in his throat. He scooted out from under Slade and pushed into a sitting position despite the twinge of pain in his side. His pulse had started racing again, and his breaths were coming in short as he was suddenly fighting the overwhelming urge to let Slade touch his soulmark. Some part of him was screaming for the grounding feeling that often came with the impressions, but at the same time he wasn’t sure if we wanted to let himself be lulled into complacency just because his soulmark made him feel safe every time Slade touched it. It was the absolute last thing he should seek if he was going to keep any semblance of a clear head.

Jason wasn’t sure what he wanted, but one thing was becoming more apparent, he couldn’t know unless he took the soulmark out of the equation. Jason took a few calming breaths before trying to form his next words, “Slade, I think I need some space.”

Slade hadn’t moved, but immediately the energy around him shifted. He pierced Jason with a hard gaze and said, “What you need is for those bloodsucking Bats to stop telling you how you're supposed to feel. You need them to stop telling you how to live your life. What the hell have they ever done for you except get you killed and then let the fucking clown who murdered you run loose?”

“I know.” Jason met his stare, feeling defensive, but unwilling to back down. “I’m not saying that’s not true, that they’ve been trying to control me ever since I came back, but the same goes for you too. You didn’t give me a choice, Slade. I hated that Fate stuck me with the Joker, but if you’d asked me before all this happened, I don’t know that I would have signed up for this either. _You _made this decision for the both of us, not me.”

Slade was still kneeling at the edge of the bed. He didn’t move to grab Jason again, but his hands were fisted now. He was tense. Angry. “So what are you saying? That you don’t want this?”

Jason swallowed in an attempt to find some composure but failing. The soulmark on his arm was tingling hot now, almost burning… that deep, aching longing. Was that Fate twisting his arm to convince him that was the truth—that he belonged with Slade? Or was it just another twisted lie?

“I’m just… I’m saying I don’t know,” Jason explained. “I don’t know if this—being with you—is just another one of Fate's twisted games. I need time to figure this out, and I can’t do it with you here. We’ve barely been apart more than a few hours since this all started, and we’re always… I can’t figure this out with you constantly _touching_ me so you can get your way.”

He choked back a sob, feeling utterly stupid and exposed at his confession. He finally allowed himself to break eye contact, and he couldn’t deny that he was afraid of Slade’s reaction.

Slade didn’t move or comment for what felt like an eternity, and when he finally did, it was only to say his name, “Jason.”

Jason looked up to find Slade had moved in close again. He didn’t make a move to touch Jason’s arm, but he leaned in to capture Jason’s mouth in a kiss, urging his mouth open gently with his tongue. Jason allowed it, because this time it felt different. It was subtle, but there was less aggression behind Slade's movements. He was more tentative, waiting for Jason's response before deepening the kiss. Even though Slade didn’t say as much, it was as if this was Slade's way of telling Jason he was willing to make a concession.

When he pulled away, Slade confirmed it, “Fine. You get your space, I’m going to do my job, and when I get back you’ll have gotten over this."

“Oh,” Jason almost didn’t believe it. It was colored in the patronizing dismissiveness that was typical of Slade's self-centered lense, but Slade was actually going to give him space? It took another second to actually sink in, and he asked, “So you’re not mad?”

“No. I’m fucking pissed. Next time I see them, I’m going to fucking kill Grayson and that asshole Batman for putting you up to this. But you want your fucking choice? You got it.” Slade got up from the bed. He shuffled around again, taking Jason’s things out from the bags and putting it back into drawers. Jason watched, hugging his arms around himself, as Slade finished stuffing his gear into his bag. Once he was done, he moved back to stand beside the bed, pointing a berating finger at Jason as he barked orders, “Don’t go see those fucking Bats again, and don’t be a dumbass and go after Black Mask while you’re injured. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. Don't go patrolling or whatever those idiot batfucks do. Just let those ribs heal. I’ll be back in two weeks tops.”

Jason just nodded, feeling oddly numb. Slade was leaving. He was actually leaving. Shit. That was what he wanted wasn’t it? To have some personal time to think, even if only for a few weeks. He wanted this, right?

“Stop questioning yourself.” Slade said, as if hearing his thoughts, but then he leaned down and kissed Jason once more on the mouth. Just a gentle closed-mouth peck this time, a soft brush of lips that somehow brought a bloom of karmic impressions even though Slade hadn't touched his mark. Heat. Longing. That subtle ache. Then Slade pulled back, climbed out the window, and was gone.

Jason felt something wet trail down his cheek, and when he reached up to wipe at his face, he realized that at some point he had started crying.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

He stayed huddled on the bed for a long time. It might have been minutes or even hours, but by the time Dick slipped in through the same window that Slade had used to leave, the sun was up, and the black and blue of Dick's Nightwing suit contrasted starkly against the white haze of Gotham's morning sky.

Jason glanced up as Dick approached, and then looked away. The draft from the window opening had goosebumps pimpling his skin. He tried to tug at the bed covers to wrap over his shoulders, but he gave up after realizing that the sheets were tangled around his hips. It hurt too much to move, and he was tired.

"Slade's not here," Jason said, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice. He didn’t want to fight with Dick anymore. The last twenty-four hours had felt like an emotional rollercoaster that had ended with the car derailing from the tracks. He felt drained to the point that he couldn’t keep the walls up anymore. There were things inside him that were hurting. He didn’t realize that feeling empty could be so exhausting.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Dick moved slowly. Warily. As if he were trying not to spook a frightened animal. “Did Slade do something to you?”

"No,” Jason replied. “He left."

"He just… left?"

Jason nodded. “I asked him to give me some space.” His arm throbbed as he said it, and there was that deep ache again in his heart.

Something must have shown on his face, because Dick looked suddenly concerned. He sat beside Jason and peeled off his mask before reaching out and tentatively touched Jason’s shoulder. “For what it's worth Jay, I’m sorry.”

Maybe it was due to his exhaustion, or maybe some part of him genuinely needed the consolement, but he didn’t throw Dick’s hand off immediately. He let himself feel the warmth of Dick’s gloved palm against the bare skin of his shoulder. His grip felt heavy and firm. It felt grounding, not unlike how he would feel sometimes when Slade touched his soulmark.

“How do you know, Dick?” Jason turned to him, “how do you know that what you feel from the impressions is real or not?”

Dick didn’t say anything immediately. He just let go of Jason’s shoulder and brought his hands into his lap. He looked down at his wrist, where the lightning bolt was hidden under his sleeve, with a pensive expression on his face. “It’s not about whether it's real or not. What you feel is what you feel. Karmic impressions come from Fate, and how much of that is you and how much of that is something outside of this life, no one really knows, but it’s about deciding whether or not Fate has laid out the right path for you or not.”

“And you chose Fate’s path.”

Dick nodded. “Wally and I knew each other before the marks appeared though. We were friends before, and I trusted him already, and that gave us something to start with before we were paired.”

That was a luxury Jason didn’t have. His soulmarks had never been founded on friendship, but rather on someone trying to kill him. Jason thought about how the jokermark used to feel excruciatingly painful. He thought about how sometimes he would feel a pang in his heart when he touched the wolfmark he reciprocated with Slade. It throbbed sometimes. It was throbbing even now.

“Does it ever hurt?” Jason asked.

Dick looked at him worriedly, pausing a moment before responding. “Not directly. Sometimes it hurts when Wally hurts, but not really, no.”

It wasn’t surprising that perhaps that deep ache was unique to Jason’s situation, because of course Fate was still fucking him over by not letting him have anything in his life without pain. Dick had that anxious look on his face again though, and he reached out and put both his hands on Jason’s shoulders, turning him so that Jason could see the earnest expression Dick wore.

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier tonight,” Dick gripped Jason’s shoulders tightly, giving him a little shake to emphasize the point. “I really am, but we _are _worried about you. A soulmark doesn’t make what Slade did to you okay. You made the right choice in asking Slade to leave.”

Did he really? Jason thought about how Slade had been angry at Jason’s request. He’d expected a fight, if not physical then at least some kind of verbal blow out, but in the end, Slade had simply kissed him goodbye and left, leaving him alone with his thoughts and a soulmark that wouldn’t quit feeling like heartache. If it was the right choice, then why did it hurt so much?

“I know it’s hard Jay,” Dick was still talking to him, “but whatever you’re feeling, it’ll get better. I promise.”

His words weren’t comforting at all. What did Dick know of any of this? He didn’t have the burden of a soulmark with not one, but _two _supervillains. He didn’t have soulmates who had tried to kill him. He didn’t have a soulmark forcibly changed on him. Instead it had Jason remembering Slade’s words– “_What you need is for those bloodsucking Bats to stop telling you how you're supposed to feel. You need them to stop telling you how to live your life.”_

Maybe it was time he drew the line.

Jason batted Dick’s hands away and backed out of his grasp. “Dick, when I told Slade I needed some space, I meant it, but the same goes for you and Bruce. I need time to figure this out without you trying to convince me the right choice is whatever you or Bruce think it is. I don’t want you here.”

“But–, Jason, I’m not going to leave you to figure this out alone.” Dick didn’t make a move to grab Jason again, but Jason could tell he wanted to.

“You will,” Jason asserted, “because I’m asking you to.”

“Jason, no. Come back to the manor with me. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone.”

"Maybe not," Jason replied, "but that's what I'm asking." There was no way Jason was going to find any peace in the manor. There was too much history, and Bruce had too much control. "You've been telling me to make choices. Well, this is one of them."

In the end, much to Jason’s relief, Dick didn’t force the issue. “We’re here if you need us, Jay,” he said, then exited out the same window he had come in. Jason was finally left alone to feel the weight of his burdened thoughts.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

He tried to lay low. Almost a week went by where Jason didn't do much more than putter around the safehouse, making sure the transfers that siphoned off the Penguin's cash were going through, and doing whatever forensic accounting he could cobble together remotely on Black Mask. The work was drier than dry, but his bruised ribs got a chance to rest and Jason managed to map out several possible scenarios for Sionis' shell companies.

It kept him busy enough that he could refrain from checking his phone constantly to see if there was any sign of Slade returning. Most of the texts that came through were from Dick, which Jason pointedly ignored, reassured that if it was an emergency Dick wouldn't hesitate to reach him through other channels.

He heard nothing from Bruce, and Jason wasn't sure how he felt about the lack of contact. It was likely that it had a lot more to do with Dick trying to play mediator to avoid another disastrous confrontation than Bruce simply washing his hands of him. Jason had caught a glimpse of a suspicious looking black cape gliding across the neighboring building more than once, and a few days of cooling off had brought some clarity. Jason regretted how things had gone in their last interaction. In retrospect he could see that Bruce was validly concerned… but Jason had been caught off guard, not to mention Bruce had tried to broach the subject with his fists, and Jason had let his emotions overrule. He still wasn't ready to have the discussion again either. Not until he could come to his own conclusions without Bruce trying to coerce him into toeing the bat-party line.

Jason wanted to reconcile eventually though. He'd worked too hard at this point to be at odds with Bruce forever, and having the bats at his back, however begrudging it might feel, wasn't something he wanted to give up just yet. He just needed more time to figure this out….

He needed this, he kept telling himself. He needed this time away from both sides, but he couldn't fully suppress the urge to check every time a message came through. He thought about messaging Slade constantly, but the only means Slade had left him to do that was through encrypted emergency channels.

His pathetic emotional needs didn't warrant that, and Jason chided himself for being so desperate. He hated that even though he'd wanted this time alone to clear his head and figure out how he felt about his karmic entanglement, there wasn't more than an hour that went by that he didn't think of the other man. There wasn't a day that passed where the throb of his soulmark didn't remind him that Slade's departure had left him feeling like some part of himself was missing. Maybe Dick and Bruce were wrong, and there wasn't a way to walk away from this… not without carrying a wounded heart that would never heal.

In that respect, Dick had been right. Jason wouldn't have chosen this, because the constant emotional whiplash was hell. He vacillated between wanting to give in to the karmic impressions and recall Slade back to his side, and feeling self-doubt, self-pity, and anger at being manipulated. It wasn't limited to Slade either. He was perpetually angry and frustrated at something or someone—at Dick and Bruce for trying to assert their overly prescriptive black and white perspective, at himself for not recognizing how deeply he had internalized the manipulation sooner, and then being unable to subsequently untangle his true feelings.

If anything, having time to himself only primed the flow of his meandering thoughts, his mind following a stream of reasoning to a logical determination, only to have his conclusions swing wildly with his moods.

At the very least he was pretty sure _world's deadliest assassin_ wouldn't have ranked up there in his list of desirable qualities in a partner if anyone had asked him before all this happened. Jason hadn't exactly been looking for that sort of companionship either. It was one of the last things on his mind, which just served to highlight Dick's point about how sudden this relationship had taken hold of him.

On the other hand, he and Slade had proved surprisingly compatible. It had felt _good_ being with Slade, something he couldn't say he experienced very often. Was that really so wrong?

Well yes. Probably. If you took into account the assassin part, but Jason had come to understand that Slade didn't operate indiscriminately. He had a code he stringently adhered to, and while it didn't align with Bruce's hardline ethics about killing, neither did Jason's. He'd only refrained from using lethal force because he'd wanted to have a family back in his life after he reined in the pit-rage, but he still believed that some killing was justified. He still believed that the Joker deserved to die, and he was grateful that Slade had taken that initiative. How much of a hypocrite would Jason be if he tried to assert some sort moral high ground?

Maybe Slade had taken _liberties_ he shouldn't have, and maybe Slade had imposed the situation on him and then pressured him into sex, but so what? What if Jason was okay with that now? What if he decided he _liked_ it? What if the truth was that Slade did what he did only because he thought it was in the best interest of his soulmate, in which case Jason was being stupidly selfish and ungrateful.

Maybe Jason had made a mistake asking Slade to leave? He waffled back and forth on the answer, but regardless, Slade said he was coming back, and as the second week rolled by Jason started feeling anxious. He tried to distract himself by getting used to the cadence of working alone again, turning his attention once more to Black Mask. Jason was able to glean that he was anticipating some major shipments in the upcoming weeks, based on the outflow of funds and the recent lease of several new facilities. He couldn't gather enough intel on what kind of merchandise was being moved without being on the ground though, and his ribs hadn't quite healed sufficiently for him to be functional in the field.

_Don’t be a dumbass and go after Black Mask while you’re injured. _

Jason clearly recalled Slade's parting words, and as much as he was inclined to balk at the unsolicited order, Slade was right. Getting caught in a battle was always a risk, but showing signs of weakness in front of a ruthless opportunist like Black Mask was akin to getting caught with your pants down. If he didn’t plan this carefully, Jason didn’t doubt that he could end up on the wrong side of a gun. Death was a real possibility now that his karmic entanglement with the Joker was severed. That much more risk meant that much more planning. He supposed he had Slade to thank for that now.

Jason resigned to wait, maybe even plan for backup with Slade's inevitable return, except when the two week mark rolled around, Slade didn't turn up.

He gave it a few more days, but then the third week came around with no sign of Slade, and Jason had to admit to himself that he was crestfallen. He hadn't come to a clearly drawn conclusion about where he wanted things to go, but he was ready to talk. The longer they were apart, the more restless he felt and the more his soulmark seemed to throb, especially when he laid in bed alone.

He considered the possibility that Slade was in trouble, even venturing a cryptic message through the emergency channels, but he got no response. Jason finally had to consider the possibility that perhaps the time apart may have led Slade to come to other conclusions. Maybe Slade was still pissed, and he didn't plan on coming back after all? Maybe once again, Slade had made the decision for the both of them, figuring that even with the soulmark Jason wasn't worth the hassle. Maybe Slade had decided to _walk away._

Jason felt that deep ache every time he thought about it, the soulmark pulsing, a feeling that grew more into a wrenching tightness in his heart. It brought a heat to his eyes and Jason felt hopelessly pathetic, pining after a man who had probably just used him and then tossed him aside when he had gotten tired of him….

He couldn't mope around like some lovesick puppy though. With or without Slade, Jason had plans. At the end of the third week he declared himself functional enough to do some light reconnaissance. As he moved to change his shirt he accidentally brushed against the wolfmark on his arm, and a sharp pain echoed through his frame and through his heart. This wouldn't do.

Jason dug out his artificial skin patch kit. He hadn't used it since the jokermark had disappeared, but there were good reasons one wouldn't want to broadcast a soulmark, especially out in the field. Especially when one didn't want to think about the reasons why a karmic partner was absent. Jason carefully laid the patch over his skin, trying to ignore how much the mark was throbbing, and pressed it firmly until it was sealed.

He geared up for the first time since that night Slade had left, donning his full ensemble of body armor and tactical gear, holsters strapped to his thighs, topping off with his leather jacket. He glued a red domino mask over his eyes, completed the look with his red helmet, and headed out.

It felt good to be out as the Red Hood again. It gave him some much needed distance from the clusterfuck that was his personal life. It was about time he got back into the flow of the Gotham underworld. He needed to get his ear back to the ground, and he knew exactly where to go as a first stop.

Tucked within a narrow back alley, between the Bowery's last-century tenements, was an old tarred-wood door, blackened over time with a speakeasy grill that survived intact from Prohibition days. Jason walked up to it and knocked, and the slit-hatch opened up to reveal a set of narrowed eyes. The opening was just big enough that Jason could see a set of thick, unkempt brows over dark piercing eyes.

"Red Hood. Been a while since you stopped by." The door opened to reveal a gruff looking bouncer that he'd seen a couple times before, and Jason stepped through the small vestibule and down a set of stairs until it opened up to a moderately sized room lined on one side with a bar counter. It was an old speakeasy that had found new use as neutral watering hole for Gotham's thugs, with some of the back rooms doubling up as an armory.

An old CRT television sat against the back wall, painting lines of electrons across the screen in a desperate bid to cling onto technological life. The clientele didn't often fare much better in their own bid for survival in Gotham, but the mixed bag of lowlife thugs, well-connected fences, and aspiring middle manager henchmen often gave Jason a good index of the rumblings of the Underground. Plus after a few brokered deals with the fences and several supply trips to the armory, no one batted an eye that the Red Hood turned up now and then.

Jason headed over to the counter, ordering a pint of whatever IPA was on draft, and settled down to take in the ambient chatter. He turned up the voice amplification on his helmet and let the voices drift over–

_"... –nguin's been looking for some new hands. Last bunch got rounded up by the cops…."_

_"... takin' a new night job at the docks with the Triads. My cousin says they need someone to do graveyard when the narco-subs come in…."_

_"... bat 'sover on the South end. Fucked up my dealers big time. Gonna start working west…."_

Nothing new or unexpected was coming up, and Jason figured the chances of a bar fight breaking out were low enough that he could flip open his mask and down some of his drink. He opened the latch enough to take a first swig of the draft, letting the bitterness of the hops settling over his tongue before swallowing. It felt good going down, and he was almost tempted to finish off the pint to drown his sorrows, when a heavy set figure scooted down from the end of the bar. He was wearing a threadbare bomber jacket and leather gloves, but what gave his affiliation away was the ridiculous headgear—the signature grommet-mesh mask of one of Black Mask's lackeys.

"Excuse me, sir…?" the man leaned onto the bar and waited for Jason's acknowledgement.

Jason turned to him, noting the relaxed body language, tracking the way the straps led down his mask and down under his jacket. He could be armed and aiming for a brawl, but the most likely scenario was that he was here on business, approaching the Red Hood on behalf of the Black Mask. He'd been looking for some sort of hook into Sionis' organization, but he played it cool. "Sorry pal, S&M's not really my thing."

"Ah. No–," the man faltered, but only for a moment. "I think you misunderstand. I work for the Black Mask. Part of his False Face Society."

Jason feigned disinterest. "You can't tell but I'm dozing off under this mask."

"The Black Mask has been looking for you," the man was not dissuaded. "He would like to extend an invitation to join him for dinner."

"_Pfft._ If he wants to ask me on a date he can do it himself." Jason half joked and angled away, keeping the man in his line of sight while moving into a better defensive position. The invitation was curiously sudden, and Jason was immediately suspicious. There was no way this was a coincidence.

"I can relay your request. He's waiting in a car outside." The man got up from his seat at the bar. "Give me a moment."

That wasn't what Jason had been expecting. At most Jason had thought he might glean some hint of Sionis' next move from any underlings that may have been at the bar. He wasn't exactly prepared for a face-to-face on his first night of doing recon, but sure enough, after a few moments, none other than Roman Sionis strolled in. He was wearing a tailored suit over his broad frame, the grin of his black skull-face somehow looking predatory. It had Jason's hackles rising, and his soulmark under the skin patch seemed to respond in kind—an uncomfortable tingle spreading up and down along his body.

“Red Hood," Sionis swaggered over to lean against the barstool, "I can appreciate a man who values the importance of meeting face-to-face. Call me old-fashioned, but it goes a long way in building trust."

Several of Sionis' goons had trailed in after him, placing themselves near the exits and near Sionis himself. The bar went deathly quiet.

"Just to be upfront, _Roman, _mob-wife really isn't my aesthetic." Jason got up from his stool and put his hands on his hips, keeping his hands close to his holsters. Black Mask's goons were hardly a match, but there were a lot of them, heavily armed to boot. Jason preferred not to have to fight his way out in such close quarters, though he could probably take them all with his eyes closed, even if he was still mildly injured. It just wasn't going to be fun.

"Ha! The mouth on you," Sionis laughed. He didn't appear threatened in the slightest by Jason's posturing. "I’ve got a proposition for you, but I expect you’ll agree when I say we should take this some place more _private_."

"Nope." Jason put a hand up and squared his stance. "I'm not that _kind of guy."_

"I get it, Hood. Business before pleasure." Sionis had the gall to lean in, lowering his voice as he did so. "I promise you’ll be interested in what I have to offer. I’ll make it easier for you. I'll have my staff prepare dinner. Come, or don't come. It's up to you." He handed Jason a business card with an address—it listed the familiar location of Sionis' office tower, where he had a penthouse residence on the upper floors.

This could be the break Jason was looking for, a ready "in" to all of Sionis' networks and dealings. It could also be a trap, but Jason had taken riskier gambles before.

A sharp throb emanated from the wolf mark, and Slade's words once again echoed in Jason's memory– _Don’t be a dumbass and go after Black Mask while you’re injured. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone._

Slade had also said he'd be back by now, and he wasn't, but here was Black Mask, practically handing Jason his own head on a platter. It was an opportunity he couldn't afford to miss, so as Sionis retreated with his mooks and left the dingy bar, Jason made a decision: he would dive full in undercover to infiltrate Black Mask.

The next couple hours saw him scrambling to prepare. Fortunately he'd already done much of the needed research on Sionis already. He easily pulled up the building's schematics, packed his pockets with C4, and plotted multiple escape routes with contingencies. He did one final check of his equipment, then briefly rolled up his sleeve to make sure the skin patch stayed in place. He'd engineered the artificial skin to be long-lasting and durable, and would last the next several days without having to be replaced. It stayed on sometimes even a week if he kept it mostly covered without much friction. It was still throbbing however, as he looked at the spot where the wolf normally adorned his skin. It looked disturbingly bare as another familiar pang ran through his heart.

If Slade ever turned up, he wouldn't be thrilled about this. He'd made himself clear that he thought Jason's plans for Sionis were foolish, that he risked getting himself in too deep, and that Jason was underestimating the lengths to which Sionis would go. He hadn’t wanted Jason to do this, especially not alone, but Jason had planned for this. He was fully capable and willing to take whatever risks were necessary, and if Slade did eventually turn up, Jason left a few clues for him in their safehouse. If Slade _wasn't _coming back, then what did he really have to lose?

There wasn't time to contemplate it any further. Black Mask was expecting him, and Jason had to make sure he made a certain kind of impression if he wanted to establish the right dynamic. After a quick surveillance from the neighboring tower, Jason spied Sionis meeting with several of his lieutenants in a conference room, their figures clearly visible through the floor-to-ceiling office window. Jason shot out his grapple line and launched himself straight for the windowpane.

He crashed through it, shards of tempered glass flying everywhere. Sionis and his lieutenants ducked and scattered. Some of them immediately fled the room, and the ones that remained were subject to the force of Jason’s boots. He kicked down the few stooges that were cocky enough to attack, knocking them out with nerve blows, and the room was quickly subdued with Jason leveling a gun at the lone standing figure, Black Mask.

“Splendid!” Sionis actually clapped his hands. “You’re everything I’d hoped you’d be.”

“I have that effect on people,” Jason kept his pistol steady. “I’m ready to do business now, Roman.”

"I'm quite pleased that you came of your own accord," the hum of Sionis' voice was thick and low. There was an undertone to his voice that Jason didn't like one bit. It made his skin crawl, as Sionis added, "I’ve been looking for a man like you."

"And what kind of man is that?" Jason responded, keeping his voice neutral through his modulator.

"A man that comes with a warning. With the two of us together, this is going to be a game changer. Why don’t you come upstairs and we can talk over dinner. I’m looking forward to our _working partnership. _I'll explain my terms, of which I'm sure you'll accept." Sionis raised his arm, as if offering a handshake.

Jason didn't budge. There was something wrong with this situation. Sionis was too much at ease. Too confident that Jason wasn't going to put a bullet through his ugly black skull. "Don't be so sure. I'm still the one holding a gun to your fucking face."

Sionis dropped the offered hand and brought his arms up to cross over his chest. "I think you’ve misunderstood, Red Hood. You seem to be under the mistaken impression that this was a negotiation. I own you. Just like everyone else in this town. Just like everyone down at that armory, right down to that bartender who poured your drink. You couldn't shoot me if you tried, but go ahead. Be my guest."

Jason did try. First aiming a non-lethal shot at Black Mask's shoulder, and then right between the eyes. Both times he failed to pull the trigger, despite Jason consciously willing the act.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" Jason snarled. He felt a strange tingle creeping over him, a sense of detachment as he watched his arm slowly lower the gun, and he caught a glimpse of some sort of glowing purple script that layered over the exposed skin of his wrist.

Sionis chuckled as he watched. "A neat little bio-hack in the form or a techno-organic virus that's coopted your nervous system. Like I said, I could use a man like you. Now let's see what lies underneath this facade."

Against his will, Jason found himself moving, reaching up to dismantle the safeguarded latch of his helmet, lifting it off his head to expose his face. Sionis approached, bringing his fingers up to skirt along Jason's temple to peel off his domino mask.

"Nice," that sickly skull-grin seemed to twist into a leer. "Very nice. Who would have thought the infamous Red Hood was just another pretty boy."

Sionis' fingers curled around his jaw, tilting his head up, and Jason finally managed to fight back enough against the virus controlling his body to jerk away. However, it left him uncoordinated, and he stumbled a few paces before he overbalanced and fell backwards onto the floor.

The last thing he saw was Sionis leaning over him, the hideous black skull-face blurring dark as he faded into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Before anyone asks, yes, this series is getting a third installment :) I just need time to plot it out and stuff. Stay tuned. You may want to subscribe to the series if you want to get updates. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you liked this please leave a comment or kudos!


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